Chapter 2 #2
“So, shall we switch the babies?”
“Okay,” I agree, reluctantly letting him take Isobella back.
Holding Cesar is a completely different experience than holding his sister. He’s squirmy and expressive, a bit heavier, and completely obsessed with attention. Any time I take my eyes off him to speak to Matteo or my father, he reaches for my face and tries to turn it back.
It’s the first time someone has touched my face—outside of trying to save my life—in years. If he wasn’t a tiny, precious baby, it might be terrifying. Instead, it makes my insides feel all gooey and warm. Like the way I feel when I hold a kitten or watch videos of baby otters.
It’s lovely.
When the party has died down almost entirely, and the time to leave has come, sadness creeps in.
I wish, not for the first time, that I was normal.
That I could stay here overnight to spend more time with my niece and nephew.
That I could run up to Dmitri and tell him how beautiful his children are without feeling like I need to throw up.
“Until next time, Miss Morozov,” Matteo says, playfully bowing to me as he stands up with both babies. “Something tells me we’ll talk soon.”
This time, Uncle Lev doesn’t growl at him.
“I’ll speak with your father,” Father says, eyeing him carefully.
Grinning, Matteo simply replies, “Sweet. I’m going to go get these kids to their mama before they pass out. Say bye-bye, babies.”
“No!” Cesar yells, giggling wildly as he cracks himself up.
“Ba,” Isobella says, waving as she softly tucks herself into the crook of Matteo’s arm.
Chest aching, I wave back sadly. “Goodbye.”
One Hour Later
Our plane to leave the island is about to take off.
Uncle Lev and Uncle Mikhail have taken up the back seats to share a drink at the small bar cart.
I know Uncle Lev is itching to get home and back to Aunt Irina and their daughter Nadya.
She’s twelve now, but every bit as attached to her parents as she’s been since she was born.
I like that about Nadya. I’m envious of it, even.
She’s able to enjoy her childhood, seemingly in no hurry to grow up.
I used to be like that. Playing ballet with my Barbies as old as thirteen.
If I could go back to that age, I might be tempted—if I didn’t know what would happen only two years later.
Uncle Mikhail is probably eager to return too, but not for a wife.
He’s never married, though he has two sons.
Aleksandr is eighteen now, and Vik is Nadya’s age.
I can’t remember the last time I spoke to either of them, but they were always more elusive like their father.
Even when I was younger, we didn’t interact much.
While my uncles have their families to look forward to, I’m only thinking about one thing. Alone time. Decompressing in my room, getting back to my schedule, and sleeping to replenish my already small social battery.
Meeting Matteo and the twins made today much easier than I expected it to be, but it still wasn’t easy.
I feel too many emotions, and I’m too drained to even begin to sort them.
I do know that I want to see more of Isobella and Cesar.
I don’t want to miss out on more of their lives as they continue to grow, I’ve already been absent for so much.
They’re walking and talking, and it makes my stomach hurt thinking about how big they’ll be when it’s time for Dmitri to return home and take his place as Pakhan.
Father has given my brother and his new wife time to spend with her family since she was robbed of the opportunity to grow up with them.
But eventually, they’ll all return to California, where Dmitri and Ivan belong.
Cesar will be the next heir, and Jade will be officially recognized as the Koroleva.
Our queen.
It could be four or five more years before they return now, and the twins may not even recognize me at that point. Matteo could help with that, I remind myself immediately.
My face feels warm just thinking about him. The charming, happy, and handsome Moretti son who broke me out of my comfort zone and made me feel irrationally safe with him—after mere minutes of meeting.
“Father?” I ask, toying with the lavender-colored Bluetooth headphones in my lap.
Normally, I would already have them secured over my head, music playing softly through them to drown out the sound of the plane.
But my mind has been too preoccupied with whirling thoughts that they’d been forgotten until now.
Dad looks up from his phone to meet my eyes. He sat across from me on the plane ride over here as well. Whether it was for his own peace of mind, or mine, he’s decided to do it again.
“Yes, dochen’ka?”
Precious daughter. I wish I felt as lovely as his nickname makes me sound.
I swallow my nerves and breathe out slowly. “Can Matteo be my friend?”
Setting his phone on the table in front of us, he sighs and my heart falls.
“Please, Papochka?”
He freezes, hearing the word.
“What would this friendship entail, Anya?”
“Texting,” I reply with a small shrug. “Maybe phone calls. I still don’t want to leave home, even to visit. But he said he would send me pictures of the twins. I want that. And—” I stop myself, searching for the right words.
“And?” he prompts.
“He’s nice to me, Papochka…he didn’t frighten me.”
Searching my face for hints of hesitation, my father rubs a hand down his chin and exhales.
“I will speak with Dante and the boy’s contact.” My stomach flips. “But if he does anything to make you regress, I will end this friendship, Anya. You’re just starting to improve, I won’t have him interfering with your therapy or your healing, do you hear me?”
Not knowing what’s come over me, I jump up from my seat and throw myself at my father.
My arms surround the back of his neck and head, face planting into his firm chest. “Thank you, Papa,” I croak, feeling dizzy as my nerves all scream in protest at the contact.
“Thank you,” I repeat, breathing out the words shakily.
As stiff as a board, he makes a deep sound of surprise. He doesn’t hug me back, likely terrified to trigger me even though I’ve initiated this. Which is good, because I need to sit down again before I faint. Returning to my seat, I find him blinking at me with an unreadable expression.
I lift my headphones to put them on, barely catching his soft reply as I do.
“You’re welcome, dochen’ka.”